


Death in the Afternoon

by mothmansantennae



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Heaping Helping of Memes, AU, Alternate Universe, Bee is really tired, Blood, Death Studies, Death Worker AU, Funeral Home, Graphic descriptions of gore, Guardian Angel AU, Guardian Angels, Human AU, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), I’ll add more tags as I go, Maggot Husbands (Good Omens), Mainly Ineffable bureaucracy, Mortician, Mortuary, No actual violence, Obligatory London Rain, Other, Roommates, Wingman Dagon, blasphemy???, flatmates, mortician au, tw: death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmansantennae/pseuds/mothmansantennae
Summary: Those who willingly touch the dead may never be touched by an angel.It was a belief that anyone going through mortuary school was told at some point. Bee never really cared, they weren’t even Christian. They didn’t need an angel. They just needed to get their work done, something that was monotonous but rather enjoyable. No one ever said they wanted to grow up to be a mortician, but it was somethingsomebodyhad to do.And they didn’t care if that meant they couldn’t have a damn non-existent guardian angel.TWs: death, blood, gore, etc.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64





	1. Hell’s Gate Mortuary

It scared them when they were little. They would faint at the sight of blood, cry when they got so much as a scratch. But now, it was almost therapeutic. To watch blood pour out of the slice they made with their own hands, mesmerized as it swirled around and down the drain. It was such a stark contrast against the whine porcelain of the gusset. The fact that they didn't even need to monitor the formalin pouring into the other side of the body, that they could just sit. Just watch. Embalming was one of the things they were asked about the most when people found out what they did. “Isn't it freaky to see everything come out?” “Doesn't the smell get to you?”

But as the blood became clearer, and the bag of fluid beside them got flatter, they pulled their eyes away from the drain and to the body’s collarbone. They screwed closed the catheter that had been pumping formalin into the arteries, pulling it out and letting it clatter on the silver table. This one had been a suicide, which were honestly Bee’s favorite bodies to work on. The damage that self inflicted wounds did to a body was so unique and challenging to hide, and it was the most satisfying to see them look good as new. Kind of.

But, restoration would be a job for the next day. Now, they only stitched the drainage holes closed, then going to find Dagon to put the corpse away. It was late, nearly one in the morning. The only sounds were the wind against the weak glass of the old building, and feral animals fighting outside. As they began up to the stairs to the lobby, they hadn't bothered to take their equipment off.

“Dagon!” They called, their voice echoing about the pasted walls. “Get that McCall kid into cold—” they had to pause when they saw someone in the lobby. They had been closed for four hours, what dumbass was still in here? His grey coat was wet from the storm, so he must have come in recently. That's what they got for leaving the door unlocked.

“Uh, sir?” Their voice was more annoyed than anything. “We’re closed. Please come back tomorrow,” they droned, shaking their head a bit. The man turned to look at them, a smile forming on his face. They raised an eyebrow, grateful that their mouth was hidden behind their mask as they felt it curl into a snarl.

“Oh, I know,” he answered. “You're Bee, right?”

“Ah.. yeah,” they muttered. They hated that their name was on the sign.

“Well, Bee. I am sorry for intruding, I was just escaping the rain for a moment.”

“Well, man, I'm sorry, I gotta ask you to leave. We’ve got carcinogens out.” Really, what idiot slipped into a mortuary to escape the rain? Well, an American. Or Canadian, at best. His accent was disgusting. They took off their gloves, snapping them into a ball before tossing them into the bin.

“Right,” the man hummed. “You open at ten, right?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“We open at ten,” they repeated, their eyes drooping into a more narrow shape. “Why, got some actual business?”

“You could say that,” he answered, smiling brightly. “It was nice to meet you, Bee,” he quipped.

“Doctor Zachary will do,” they muttered. They watched closely as he turned to grab the handle of the heavy mahogany door and push it open.

“I’m Gabriel, by the way,” he finished, finally disappearing into the storm. There was a flash of lighting, which was soon followed by a bang of thunder.  
They almost felt bad. Not enough, though. They rolled their eyes, continuing to strip themselves of protective equipment as Dagon appeared from the stairwell of the flat located above them.

“Who were you talking to?” She asked, tilting her head. Their other roommates were fast asleep.

“Some wanker that came in to get out of the storm,” they shrugged, balling their gown around their mask to shove it in the rubbish. “You’ve got to be a pretty desperate bloke to come into a mortuary uninvited,” they sighed. “Anyways, can you get the kid into cold storage? I’ll get started on his wounds in the morning, yeah?”

“Course. You open the vents?” She asked.

“Yep. The others asleep?”

“Mhm.”

It was an odd situation they had going about the home. It wasn’t uncommon for funeral homes to have living spaces above them, but for all five employees to live there? That was a little strange. Truly, it was just easier to split up the rent from there, and no one ever had an excuse to be late. It got crowded, but it was enough.

Bee made their way up the old stairs to the flat, their steps causing each and every stair to creak loudly beneath the little weight they were able to exude. The lights were off so the boys could sleep, meaning they had to feel their way around to get to their room. Luckily there was nothing they could trip over before they got there. There was no bedtime routine for them, not even changing into pajamas. Just passing out on top of the covers, snoring loudly.

It only seemed like a second before they were awoken to loud rock music in the basement, their alarm blaring and blinking obnoxiously. They groaned, snatching the clock from their nightstand and chucking it at the wall. It continued to beep. As it did every day.

They forced themselves to sit up and walk over to where the thing sat, bending down to switch it off. God, their head hurt. They grabbed a random assortment of clothes from their wardrobe that somewhat resembled an outfit, balling them up under their arm. They stepped out of their room, making their way to the shared bathroom of the flat. Everyone was up and running already—other than Hastur. He was practically nocturnal.

They locked the door up behind them, turning on the shower to its hottest setting. They stripped away yesterday’s suit before stepping in, letting the water beat at their scarred face. They used a bit of soap to get the smell of embalming fluid off of their skin and out of their hair; otherwise they just stood there until the water ran cold. They shut off the faucet with a grumble, shaking their limbs to flick off the excess water.

They dried off and brushed their teeth before pulling fresh clothes on, just a vest and slacks over a button-up shirt. Same shoes, same tie. They didn’t make enough money to own more than that. Besides, if they weren’t soaked in some sort of corpse fluid, they were clean enough for Bee.

As soon as the clock hit ten, they heard the door to the main office open, the little bell jingling happily. There was some mumbling before Ligur’s voice blared upstairs. “Bee! You’ve got someone here for you!” He yelled.

“Oi, give me a damn second!” They spat back, rolling their eyes before making their way to the stairwell. No breakfast. They supposed they could blame themselves, after all, they hadn’t woken early enough. However, the disgruntlement of missing a meal was overshadowed with annoyance when they saw a vaguely familiar grey coat in the lobby of the mortuary. It was the bloke from the night before, sans rain on his coat.

“Doctor Zachary,” he greeted warmly. They grumbled some. Too early.

“You know, when I said we open at ten, I didn’t mean you had to be here at the strike of it.”

“I value punctuality,” he shrugged, continuing that easy smile. His eyes seemed to scan their small frame, trailing along each wrinkle in their clothes and each stray hair. “May I speak to you in private?”

They sighed heavily, nodding and turning onto their heel. “Private as it can get. Viewing room okay for you?” They asked. He scrunched his nose up, but nodded, silently following them. “So, Gabriel, was it?” They asked. “What brings you back to Hell’s Gate?” They sat down among the pews, their legs propped over the armrest. The man didn’t sit, simply clasping his hands together behind his back.

“My head office sent me,” he answered plainly. “I’m a guardian angel.”

“That a hospice or something? Look, man, we already partner with The Soho Hospice and Make A Wish, I ain’t interested in talking about business unless you got a funeral to plan.” He only laughed, shaking his head.

“No, Bee. I’m a guardian angel,” he repeated, “in the biblical sense. From heaven.” He had to frown when Bee burst out in laughter, leaning back with a huge grin. “I— uh, I’m sorry, why are you laughing?” He asked. It took a few moments for them to fully settle down, their face red from lack of breath.

“God, that’s rich,” they sighed, a wide grin remaining on their face. “ _I’m an angel of Heaven! _” they mocked. “Jesus, man, if god existed, he would send an angel to me, of all people. What do you actually want? Is this a joke?”__

“She.”

“Sorry?”

“She. God is a she.”

“Man, what madhouse did you come from? Do you actually need anything here, or should I call someone to get you removed?”

“Bee, I’m not joking. Please quit your laughing. I’m an angel of the lord, and I was sent here to watch over you.”

“Ain’t angels supposed to have wings? Jesus, go back to bedlam. I’ve got work to be doing.” They hopped up from where they had been lounging, making their way back to the lobby. “It was a pleasure talking to you, _angel, _but I have actual work to do.”__

“Now, hold on a moment—“ Gabriel began, rushing after them. “You need to understand—“

“I understand well and good, you’re crazy. Now please, leave the premises before we have to escort you out.” They stopped before the door to the basement, opening it up and glancing back at him. “And please, do not come back.” They slipped through the door, locking it behind them. They rolled their eyes some. What a lunatic. “Christ,” they muttered, turning on their heel to descend down to the basement.

“Dagon!” They called, sighing when the music turned down some. They began descending the stairs, their worn leather shoes clacking on the tile. “Go ahead and get that kid back out for me?”

“On it, boss!” Was the reply, along with the slap of gloves being peeled off. They hummed gently, turning to face the table that held gloves and gowns at the bottom of the stairs.

It took half their mind not to scream when they saw the same lunatic standing there, waiting for them. They stumbled back, away from him, into another table of tools. They ended up on the floor with a loud clatter, surrounded by the contents.

Gabriel sighed softly, shaking his head. “Now, there’s really no need to—“

“How the _hell _did you get down here?!” They shouted, their eyes wide and full of fear. They would have continued, had their voice not been whisked away in utter awe as the man snapped. The table they had knocked over was now upright, better organized than it had been before.__

“Really no need to yell.” He walked around to them, offering his hand to pull them up. “I’m generally opposed to using miracles so early in a job, but you really are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He sounded so nonchalant as he helped them up.

“Bee?” Dagon called from the other side of the basement. “You good over there?”

“Ah—“ they stared up at the man, taking another tentative step backwards before looking to make sure they didn’t knock anything else. “I’m… I’m fine!” They replied.

“Now, as you had mentioned earlier, your soul is currently damned to hell,” Gabriel continued casually. “Which is why I’ve been sent to help. Despite your morale, you do an awful lot of good, so I have been tasked to save your soul.” He turned to the table, pulling out a pair of gloves for them. “So, I suggest, you go get to work on little Elmer, and we can chat.”

They couldn’t find the will to speak, just nodding silently and accepting the gloves. They were dreaming. They had to be. Just go with it. This is fine.

Everything is fine.


	2. Disgusting on the Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am so incredibly sorry for disappearing for six million years. I'm back.

As Bee crouched over the corpse of a young boy, filling in the features that had been blown away by a gunshot to the chin, they were shaking. Their hands quivered as they shaped the wax into features to match what was once the boy’s face. They were regularly quick and skilled at this, carving away, smoothing, painting.

They weren't so quite used to being watched as they worked. Not by Dagon, and _especially _not by a stranger. Not to mention, one that had _magicked _his way into their morgue, claimed to be a supernatural being, and didn’t speak. Just stared. Stared _hard _. Their hand slipped.______

“Fuck!” They yelled, growling before smashing their fist into the wax. Gabriel flinched at the sight, stepping back. Bee sighed, sitting down on their stool and rubbing their temples. “I can’t fucking work today,” they decided.

“You really shouldn’t use that sort of language,” Gabriel advised quietly. They shot a glare over to him, grabbing whatever sculpting tool that was closest to them and throwing it at him.

“My morgue, my rules.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Is your job to be annoying? Cause—“ in their fit, they began stuttering over the ‘s’, making the syllable buzz in their mouth. “That’s all you’re doing.” They rubbed their mouth, shaking their head. They had had a problem pronouncing ‘s’ sounds since they could speak, but they were getting the hang of it now. They began scraping the wax off of the boy’s face, putting it into a ball to reheat.

“...I’m sorry? I’m simply standing here.”

“Exzzactly,” they muttered.

“Why do you say it like that?” He tilted his head, taking a few steps closer.

“Speech impediment.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means my tongue has a hard time making that sound. Anthony has one too, but he just drags out his ‘s’s.”

“I’m going to assume Anthony is another human you have here.”

“An employee,” they rolled their eyes. “He does our flowers.”

“I see,” he nodded. “Forgive me, I haven’t taken a field job in a century or so.”

“Don’t say things like that,” they murmured. “Makes me feel weird.”

“Feelings are only hormones flooding your corporation.”

“My cor— my what?” They cocked a brow. Jesus, this guy really acted like he was from another planet. Well, they supposed, he was.

“You know,” he shrugged, patting his chest. “Your corporation. The vessel for your soul. The things you work on all day.”

“... _Body. _You’re talking about a body.”__

“Sure. That.” They sighed heavily, replacing the sheet over the boy to put him back in cold storage.

“So, this is what you do on a daily basis, yes?”

“Yes,” they shrugged. “Take breaks to sleep and eat.” Gabriel shivered when they mentioned eating, gagging quietly.

“I don’t understand why, or how, you mortals eat. It’s disgusting.”

“We eat… to live. Our bodies shut down if we don’t. And it’s nice. Food is good.”

“It’s repulsive. You’re soaking something in acid and… absorbing it. I can’t even see people eat.” A wicked smile broke Bee’s lips.

“Man, really?” They stepped over to a tower of drawers, opening the one on the bottom. “It would be a shame if I had some food,” they mused. They pulled out a small package, bright pink, that read, _Fry’s Turkish Delight. _Without removing their bloodied gloves, they tore the package down the middle, plucking the candy from the wrapper.__

Gabriel furrowed his brows, gagging even more. They laughed quietly, dropping it into their mouth and chewing. He shuddered, making them grin. “That’s repulsive! Do you even know what’s in that gross matter?”

“Oh man,” they spoke through a mouthful of candy, “I’d be more worried about whatever’s on my gloves. Who cares, we’re all gonna die anyways,” they shrugged.

“I—what?”

“We’re all gonna die. When I die, Dagon’s gonna try her hand at mummifying me. There were a few nuns autopsied in Rome this year, and they were full of honey and herbs. And that kept them perfectly preserved for who the fuck knows how long. Isn't that cool?”

“Why are you… so… okay with knowing you’re going to die?” He asked, ignoring the question. He found it disturbing how enthusiastically they spoke about the subject. He knew exactly who they were talking about—saints that had recently been revoked of their incorruptibility. They were both awfully sad about it. “And she died in 1879.”

“I run a mortuary,” they answered flatly. “I deal with more death than you ever will.”

“I— well, you can’t die. Not yet. Your soul will go to hell, if you die now.”

“Who the fuck cares? I’d claw my way to the throne of hell,” they joked, beginning to wheel the body they were working on back to cold storage.

Gabriel paused. “The throne of hell is vacant right now, actually. Well, technically speaking. There’s no bureaucratic authority below… you know.”

“Well, there you go. I’ll be the prince of hell.” They rolled their eyes. “Maybe you should just resign. I really don't give a shit whether or not I go to hell. And you're not going to change that. All you’ve done so far is piss me off and freak me out. And who’s to say you're not a goddamn fever dream, or if I'm high on ethanol fumes?” They muttered, pulling their gloves. They pulled back the rolled rim of the latex, shooting them across the room into the trash.

“That would be a terrible job, truly. I'm the bureaucratic equivalent of a metaphorical prince of hell, and it’s honestly just a lot of paperwork. And dealing with subordinates. I’d bet dealing with subordinate _demons _would be a nightmare—” he paused as they began rambling about his uselessness. “Well. I see you're going to be a terribly hard case.”__

“If that’s all I'm going to be, then I'm going to do my damn best to be the most exhausting ‘case' you've ever had. You're already dealing with a mildly anarchist atheist that works with corpses. What else can I put on the table? Satanism? Murder? Think you could _save _me then, big guy?”__

“Oh, dear mother— please, I highly discourage any of that. Hopefully I can prevent you doing any of that. I suppose that’s my first task.”

“First task, huh? I'm a task list, now? So what’s your second order of business, angel?”

Gabriel failed to recognize any of the irony or sarcasm dripping from their voice. “Well, I do know you are absolutely terrible of caring for your own corporation. So, I suppose it would be to make sure you sleep on a more regular basis and don't spend so much time saturating your lungs in chemicals.”

“Realize me doing that requires me to actually eat? Like, three times a day?” They grinned, leaning their head against the drawers they stood against. “But, for real. Listen, if I did those things, I wouldn't get any work done. I hold this place down for five fucking tenants. If this business goes down, that's four people that get put in the street because of me. We don't make a lot of money as is, dipshit.”

They waved him off, walking past him. They noted that Anthony should be coming in with a new batch of flowers for a casket spray just about now, and they’d have to check that off. They half thought Gabriel would stay in the morgue, and had to stay they were disappointed when they could hear him follow them up. “Ligur, is Crowley back yet?” They asked, looking over to the front desk were the other stood.

“Yes, boss. He’s in the storeroom sorting and matching.” He looked up, confused to see Gabriel still trailing behind Bee, distinctly noting how they had asked him to leave. But they seemed fine now.

“Thanks,” they sighed, spinning around on their heel to head that way. The storeroom was cold, a square room full of caskets, and no cushioning furniture. Crowley had pulled forward the casket he was arranging for, laying the flowers out to match things around. “Oi, Anthony. You know I've got to log these, right?”

“Shit, sorry. They gave me the most gorgeous mums today, I got excited. I—” he looked up, furrowing his brows. “Who’s the big guy?”

“Gabriel. Uh— social worker. He’s shadowing for a bit. Anyways. Got the receipt?” They waved it off quickly. “And god, tell me they had the right amount of foxfern, this time.”

“Oh. Yeah, they did. Threw in some leather leaf, too. Don't think I'll use it. Do you know what color this guy’s tie is going to be? I got a few different options for the accents, but I'm not sure—”

“Violet. Receipt, please?”

“Yup, Sorry.” He handed over the carefully folded paper. “I’ll get this done by seventeen hundred.”

“I hate you, but I love how much you get done,” they looked through the receipt. “You're off as soon as you're done. Go have dinner with your dear top,” they sighed, turning to leave.

“I’ll have you know that—”

“Fuck off, get your work done,” they hummed, waltzing out, nearly shutting the door in Gabriel’s face. The angel looked beyond confused as Bee went to the front desk beside Ligur.

“You… hate him?” He asked. They looked up, sighing quietly.

“I do. He’s a flash bastard, but he’s an artist with foliage.”

“We all hate him,” Ligur clarified. “And he hates us. It’s a fair relationship.” He had to chuckle gently.

“Hate is quite the strong word…” he sighed. “I’d advise you not to use it,” Gabriel clasped his hands together.

“I hate you too, wank-wings,” they replied, their voice dripping with false sweetness. They reveled in the disappointment in his face.

“You are so incredibly difficult, Bee,” he sighed.

“That’s my goal, dipshit.” They finished filing away the receipt.

Ligur looked between the two, cocking a brow. “Should I ask?”

“You could, but I’d discourage it,” they shrugged, moving away from the computer so he could continue his work. “Whenever Hastur wakes up, tell him to go over those epitaphs I assigned him and send them into the marble shop.”

“Yep,” he nodded, humming quietly.

“Oh, and… order dinner for everyone. On me,” they shot a shit eating grin to Gabriel, chuckling as his face dropped.


	3. Busybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I know no one cares about the corpses this much but I’m having fun.

After an hour break, taken up mostly by paperwork, Bee decided to try again on getting their newest corpse ready. They figured that whatever the hell was making them shaky and aggravated had passed by then, after some monotonous, easy work. Gabriel had been relatively quiet, which relieved them to no end. He was still silent as they pulled on their gown, tied their apron on, and got the rest of their protective equipment on.

They wheeled the body out of cold storage for what seemed to be the hundredth time, sitting down at the head of the silver table to reattempt the restoration. They warmed the ball of wax in their lap with a heat gun, humming quietly as they worked.

Gabriel watched them carefully as they worked, much more delicate and precise than they had been in the morning. Much steadier, as well. Their mouth was hidden behind their mask, though he could see their tongue sticking out in concentration. It was a stark opposite from the frustrated, aggressive human he had been observing only the same day.

He watched as the boy’s features features began coming back into shape. It was a shame, really, such a young and handsome man, driven to do something so terrible. He had been a good person, too, there were no traces of evil in his body. Bee delicately indented small wrinkles, a scar they had noted in the photos of him under his left eye. They pulled back when they deemed their work done, setting down their tools and grabbing something gabriel didn’t recognize. It looked like a tiny gun, a small jar of fleshy-colored liquid screwed into it. They pressed a button on the base the wire connected to, and it began making a noise that made his ears hurt. He recoiled a bit, stepping away.

They pulled back the lever on top, testing the airbrush on their gloved hand a few times before pointing it to the wax of the boy’s face. They carefully covered the white surface in paint, blending the colors into the other side of his face. They switched colors a few times, reds, blues, deep maroons. It was almost disturbing how… alive… he looked when they were done. They turned off the gun, reaching for another jar full of black fibers.

“You’re incredibly good at this,” Gabriel remarked, receiving little more than a hum in return as they grabbed individual hairs between their tweezers, placing them into the wax to imitate lashes and brows. “How long did it take you to learn this?”

“Mm.. took a four year undergrad, another four years in mortuary school, two in art school, and four in residency,” they explained nonchalantly. He furrowed his brows, tallying up the numbers in his head.

“Fourteen years?” he clarified, watching them nod. “That’s quite a big chunk of your life. You spent nearly eighteen percent of your lifespan in school.”

“Plus another eighteen years before that, but that was just.. Primary school, and such. “Dagon had it worse, she took about twenty-one years of secondary, and has to take continuation courses every year to keep her license.”

“Dear me. You only get an average of seventy-eight years until you’re dead for good, and you spend more than half of it at school?” it seemed like such a waste of time to him. He didn't get an answer, as they had dipped the tiniest brush he had ever seen into a jar of paint, silently filling in creases, lines and veins. “Last time I took a job on earth, ah, I think 1432, the only people who had education were the wealthy.”

“Times change, angel,” they murmured, setting down the paint and reaching for something much more unnerving: a giant hooked needle with white thread looped through the end of it.

“What on earth are you going to do with that?”

“Close his mouth,” they shrugged, pushing the needle into his skin, under his chin. They gently opened his mouth, reaching in to catch the needle, and push it up through the roof of his mouth. They fiddled around some to get it through his septum and back down, piercing the flesh behind his bottom teeth, and back through his chin. They tied the string in a knot, then clipping it flush to the knot. They tested the tie, pulling gently on his jaw. It held shut, making them hum happily.

“That’s so.. _intensive. _”__

“Yeah. Not many people do it by hand anymore, they use this fancy thing called a needle injector. It’s basically a needle gun. You shoot two up through the chin, two down through the nose, and twist ‘em together.” they sighed, standing up and pulling their gloves off. “The sound it makes hurts my ears. And they’re hard to aim. I just prefer to do it like this.” they tossed the needle into the sharps bin, rising to their feet. “Guess you can call me old fashzz-- ack.” they shook their head, sticking their tongue out. “Fuck.”

Gabriel had to smile, tilting his head some. “Fashioned.,” he finished.

“Yeah. That,” they grumbled, moving to go into a smaller storeroom that was in the basement. It was mostly soiled gowns waiting to be washed, pacemakers and such that had been left over from cremation. They approached a shelf full of clothing, reading the tags until they found what they were looking for.

They turned on their heel to come back to the silver table, laying the clothes out. They groaned some. “God, people choose to bury their kids in the tackiest shit,” they muttered, looking at the tie that had been chosen.

“I suppose no one will care when they’re buried…?” Gabriel tried. Bee shrugged, turning over the jacket and shirt. They rummaged through the drawers, reaching back to find a sharp pair of shears. They sliced the clothes down the back, humming quietly.

“Why are you tearing them up?” He asked, wrinkling his nose some.

“Dagon’s busy,” they shrugged. “Dead people don’t really help you dress them. You need two people to dress one regularly.” they brought the cut clothes over to the boy, tugging them onto his arms. They buttoned the garments up, tucking the raw edges under his body. “See? Can’t even tell.”

He watched carefully as they finished dressing him, securing the tie around his neck. They were so gentle with him, as if they were handing something that could be hurt. It was almost endearing, the way that they adjusted his hair when they were done. They pulled off their gown and apron, tossing them in the hamper with everything else. They ruffled out their matted hair, creating a little black fluffball. He chuckled quietly

They marched over to the bottom of the stairs, opening the door and calling upstairs. “Ligur! Crowley!” they called, their hoarse voice wavering slightly. “Get that casket down here!” they left the door open, going back into the linen room to grab the lace lining that would go inside. The men appeared downstairs shortly after, holding each end of the box. They carefully set it down, opening it up for them.

“ ‘Preciate it,” they sighed, moving to make the linens. It was almost too pretty, to be a case for a corpse. It would be soiled terribly in a few weeks, melted wax, liquefied fat, adipocere. And yet. He watched as Bee wheeled him over to the silk-lined box, moving the table to help them slide him in. They readjusted his clothes, posing him so his hands rested on his abdomen.

They let out a heavy sigh as they stood up, planting their hands on their hips. “Fuck, I need to start working out…” they mumbled.

“You’re just small,” Gabriel chuckled. “I’ll help you next time.”

“Call me small again, and you won’t be alive long enough to have the chance,” They threatened, glaring at him with a growl. Gabriel only gave them a cheerful smile, shaking his head.

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous. If you killed me, a little paperwork and I would be back.” their smile dropped, though, as Bee cocked a brow with a mischievous grin.

“So, you’re saying, I could literally get away with murder, as many times as I want, and it’d just be an _inconvenience? _”__

“I… suppose? But, I would highly discourage it.”

“But, what if I were to kill someone who would die for good, hm? Wouldn’t killing you be better?” he furrowed his brows, coughing nervously. They broke out in laughter, shaking their head. “I’m only messin’ with you. How about you come eat with us, _angel _?”__


	4. Freezing Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me???? Writing wing kink? Who knew

“It’s just confusing.” Gabriel had been watching Bee dig out organs, scrape cavities clean, remove capillaries, for two hours now. Every time they pulled out something new, he was fascinated to figure out what it was, what it’s purpose was. But there were so many things, that all seemed to do the same thing. He just didn’t get it.

“It is,” they agreed, pulling out something that looked like two beans connected at one end from around the woman’s throat, adding it to the bag of organs that had begun to fill up.

“What’s that, that you just pulled out?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back. He had grown used to the odor down here, which he never thought would have been possible. It smelled of chemicals and blood. But that was how Bee smelled, too, so it wasn’t all that bad.

“Thyroid,” they answered, glancing over to it. “This lady had an isthmusectomy at some point, that’s why the bit in the middle is so thin. It’s usually more uniform.” They scraped the esophagus clean with the back of their knife, ripping off thin yellow tissue to chuck in the bag with the rest.

“What’s it do?” He asked, stepping back from the table,

“Just releases hormones.” They looked up, seeing the hopelessly confused look on his face, and couldn’t help but smile. “The chemicals that make you feel things. You know, you’ve got serotonin and dopamine that make you happy, HGH makes kids grow, epinephrine gives you a rush in dangerous situations. This guy releases a lot of T3 and T4, some of that will regulate your metabolism, most of it goes to the adrenal glands to do other things.” They poked their knife at a brown tissue that covered the kidneys.

“How many _are _there?” He asked, somewhat incredulously.__

“Can’t tell you off the top of my head. Let me think— ah, hypothalamus mostly releases things to tell other things what to do, pancreas does stuff to regulate blood sugar, adrenal glands put you in fight or flight, pituitary gland does most growth in the body, and then the gonads release most of the sex hormones.”

“I don’t understand so much of what you just said,” he sighed hopelessly.

“Gonads are testes and ovaries, if that helps.”

“It does not.”

They cocked a brow, and he could tell they were scowling under their mask. “Testicals. Balls.”

“Still lost,” he shook his head in exasperation, almost afraid of how disappointed they seemed in him.

“Christ, how long have you had a human body, now? A month?” They rolled their eyes as they went back to their work, sighing heavily. “Make it seem like you’ve never seen a fucking dick.”

“I don’t have many of the organs that come with a human body,” he defended. “I only have a nervous system, as far as I’m aware. And the chemicals. You know I don’t eat, and I don’t need to do much of anything to survive. It’s just counterintuitive.”

They nearly dropped their knife. “You’re telling me you don’t have a fucking stomach? That’s disgusting. What are you full of, then?”

“Muscular tissue, I suppose. Bones,” he glanced away. “And my wings are stored inside of my corporation, they’re awfully large.

“...Wings? You have wings? As a part of your _human body _?”__

__“Well, yes. They’re instruments to channel much of my celestial power. I am a messenger of god, after all.”_ _

“What.. are they like? Are they like bird’s wings? _Are your bones fucking hollow? _” Gabriel laughed as they listed off questions.__

“You could compare them to a bird’s wings, I suppose. They’re all white and gold feathers. More gold on the bottom. I’m fairly sure my bones aren’t empty, though.”

They stared for a moment, opening their mouth to speak, before snapping it shut. Wings. Why did it not cross their mind that he would have wings? Angels had wings. That was a thing. “Can… I see them?” They asked after a minute. Gabriel arched one eyebrow, pressing his lips together.

“We aren’t supposed to show them to mortals very often. I believe the only mortal to have seen them was mother Mary.”

“I’m your charge. Come on! You can’t just tell me you have wings and then drop it!” They whined, setting their scalpel down. “Looking at bodies is my whole job!” They clasped their bloody, gloved hands together. He glared at them for a moment before groaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fine.” It was adorable how happy Bee looked when he agreed, he had to smile as he pulled his coat off. One by one, he let his wings out, each letting out a sickening crack that was halfway between electricity and bone breaking. Bee’s eyes widened as they slowly took off their gloves, pulling down their mask.

“Six? I thought you would have two,” they began, placing a circle around him to observe.

“Low-ranking angels have two. Mid-ranks have four, archangels have six.”

“Well, look at you, hotshot,” they chuckled, stopping behind him. They hesitated for a moment before reaching up, their fingers gently landing on the back of his neck as they began to count down the vertebrae of his spine. “Incredible,” they murmured, ducking under his lowest wing to observe the front. “You’re spine’s gotta be made of steel. You’ve got two sets extending from your thoracic vertebrae… and they share the bone,” they mumbled absentmindedly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he chuckled frankly. He loved how curious their eyes had become, their face relaxed for once. They softly set their hand on the joint of his secondary wing, not expecting him to flinch and bat them away.

“Sorry! Sorry,” they apologized, pulling their hands back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No— ah,” he sighed, shaking out to relax a bit. “They’re just quite sensitive to physical touch, is all.” They cocked a brow, but didn’t prod further. They continued to examine them, sans touching, and he could almost see the gears clicking in their head. As if they were drawing the bones and curves of his wings in their head, committing them to memory.

“They’re beautiful,” they murmured. He chuckled softly, his cheeks reddening some.

“Thank you?” he laughed. “You also think coagulated blood is beautiful, so I’m unsure how to feel about that opinion.

“Feel fine. Does it hurt having them all cooped up? Do they get sore?”

“Of course they do,” he hummed, letting them lower to rest on the ground. “I don’t fly much, they don’t get a whole lot of use.” They finally stepped back, a small smile on their lips.

“Maybe you need a massage,” they joked, moving to pull on a clean pair of gloves. “They really are amazing, though,” they hummed.

“Thank you, Bee,” he responded, carefully putting them away and getting his coat back on. He was fairly quiet for the rest of the evening; praise was so out of their character. It almost made him feel special.

They finished embalming the body around midnight, stitching its thoracic cavity shut and placing it in storage for continued work. They stripped of their sterile protections, tossing what was reusable in the wash, everything else going in the bin. “You just doing paperwork tonight?”

“Most likely. Why do you ask?” They merely shrugged in response, beginning up the stairs. “C’mon, I’ve got to lock it up.” The angel chuckled, following them out of the morgue and stepping away so they could lock up. He watched the windows, which were all but blocked up with snow, his hands clasped behind his back until they were done. They began towards the second set of stairs, waving a bit. “Night,” they called, disappearing into the second floor.

He hummed gently, sitting down on the sofa to miracle his paperwork into his hands. He used to prefer the paperwork over actually watching Bee, but now he could hardly stand it. He’d picked up a habit of checking on them throughout the night, just to get away from it. He was still technically doing his job.

The whole building was freezing, cold leaking in from unfinished walls and unsealed doors. Bee said they preferred it like this, the smell was better in the cold. But he had noticed everyone catch a bug, coughing and sweating, even in the cold. Bee seemed to get a little better as they began working, they said it was because they were up and moving.

When he had finished one round of paperwork, he sighed, placing it down on the cushions as he stood up. He very carefully walked upstairs, needing a quick miracle to make his steps silent. He’d found Dagon was a light sleeper, and didn’t much like him coming into Bee’s room. She was awfully protective like that.

The chill worsened on the second floor, each breath he took pushing out a cloud of fog from his nostrils. He frowned a bit as he opened the small oak door to Bee’s room, seeing them curled up in a mound of blankets. Nothing quite out of the usual. They coughed every few seconds, and when he got closer, he found they were shaking terribly. He sighed, placing the back of his hand on their shoulder. He didn’t know much about the human body other than what they had told him, but he was sure their skin wasn’t supposed to be as cold as it was.

“Bee,” he whispered, nudging them gently. All he got was a long whine and another cough, this one sounding like it could take out a lung. “Bee,” he repeated, a little louder, shaking their shoulder. He watched as their blue eyes cracked open, unable to focus from their shivering.

“Fuck—” they whispered, curling up on themselves. “It isn’t even light out yet, let me sleep,” they whined.

“You’re freezing. Don’t humans shut down at low temperatures?” He asked. They shrugged, pulling their feet under their cocoon of flannel.

“It—“ their teeth were chattering. “It’s only zero, or something,” they muttered. He sighed heavily, walking around to the other side of their small bed. Their eyes were shut again, and they’d be angry as hell in the morning because they didn’t see Gabriel letting his wings out again. He puffed up his feathers, sitting down beside them before collecting them into his lap.

“What the fuck are you—“ they were cut off when he wrapped his wings around their tiny form, warmth engulfing them. Their hands almost automatically grabbed a fistful of his feathers, making Gabriel shiver. Their icy-cold skin was enough to shock his corporation, never mind the pulling. They went silent, melting into the downy blanket of heat he provided. He held his breath, waiting for their grip on his wing to loosen, though it never did. Even when they were fast asleep, they didn’t let go. Anytime he tried to pry their hand away, they only tightened their fist. He eventually gave up, miracling the door shut and settling down for the night.

They stopped shaking soon, though they still had their coughing fits. They’d curl up tighter, sometimes getting to a point where they couldn’t get a breath back in. He’d see their eyes lift open, but as soon as they caught their breath, they were right back to sleep. He’d pat their back gently until it subsided, which seemed to work, however vaguely.

One thing he did not sign up for, though, was the _inscessent _beeping of their alarm at nine o’clock. They whimpered loudly, their hand finally untangling from his feathers for their daily reflex to chuck the machine across the room. They were beyond confusion when their hand just ran into more feathers.__

They finally opened their eyes, going red when they realized the position they had apparently fallen asleep in. “Good morning,” Gabriel hummed, “are you warm enough?”

“I— yeah,” they mumbled, slowly pulling away from him. As they scooted back, they realized, Gabriel had _not _been kidding when he had warned his wings were sensitive. With them clinging to his feathers all night, they could conclude he definitely had more than a nervous system, evidence of that poking at their backside.__

“Ah,” they quickly pulled back and away from him, nearly falling out of bed on their way to shut off the alarm. “When? Did you..”

“Around four. You were shaking quite badly,” he answered nonchalantly, not seeming to notice (or care) about the painfully apparent bulge in his slacks.

“Got it,” they nodded a bit. “Um, thank you for keeping me warm. I’m gonna go.. uh, finish up that job,” they mumbled, grabbing a new suit and leaving the room.


	5. Work Exhaustion

Gabriel had become accustomed to Bee’s noises of frustration as they worked. Countless groans, disposable probes snapping. He’d tune them out, until they broke down, then forcing them to take a break. However, the _zing _of a scalpel flying past his head to stick into the wall? That was new, and quite alarming. It was accompanied with a loud, “Fuck!” Followed by a defeated cry. He gasped, flinching as he attempted to duck out of the way. It wouldn't have hit him, even if he hadn't, but it terrified him for a minute.__

“Bee!” He places his hand over his chest, forcing his heart to slow back down. “Dear God, that could have hit me!” He watched as they put their head on the edge of the table, groaning some.

“No, it couldn't have,” they muttered. The knife was stuck to the wall a few feet to his right, soon dislodging itself to clatter on the floor. He sighed heavily, pushing himself up. He leaned down to pick it up, noting the blade had become loose from the impact.

“Bee, are you seriously exhausted to the point that you’re throwing knives?” He asked, setting it down on the table. He grabbed their shoulder, pulling them up. They looked just about dead themselves, their eyes dark from a lack of sleep. “Come on, you need to rest. Or eat, or… something.”

“I need to finish this bullshit,” they muttered, pulling away from him.

“She doesn't need to be ready for two more days, you can afford a break. He pulled them away, forcing them to follow him upstairs. The body had already been embalmed, so she’d be fine.

“Gabriel!” They protested, just about entirely unable to keep themselves in place. Ligur watched as they were dragged up, laughing quietly. They grumbled several more complaints, pulling away as soon as he allowed them to. “I don’t need a fucking break. I just need to hit something.”

“You know, that’s a terrible way to deal with your frustration,” he folded his hands together.

“Quit mothering me, you asshole,” they growled, folding their arms in defiance.

“Bee, mothering you is quite literally my job,” he pointed out. “Why are you being so difficult today?” In honesty, he knew why they were upset. He didn’t know much about how their job worked, but he knew that it normally looked easier. They were just upset, and tired, probably on the verge of a breakdown.

“I wouldn’t be difficult if you just let me do my work,” they snapped, folding their arms. Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. He felt bad for not being able to help them, but his use of miracles was limited while on the job. They stayed silent for several moments before breaking, their posture becoming slumped. “I need a nap,” they admitted, rubbing their face.

_”Thank you,” _he sighed, placing a hand on their shoulder. They begrudgingly finished the walk to their room, their arms still folded like a petulant child. Their bed was unmade, wrinkles folded into the fitted sheet with their constant tossing and turning. He’d told them several times to readjust it, but they had none of it.__

He began back out to go do paperwork while they slept, but stopped when he heard his name. “Uh, Gabriel?” They asked quietly. He glanced back at them, humming a bit. “Could you, uh, do that thing again?” They looked down, wringing their hands together.

“You’ll need to elaborate, Bee,” He said slowly, turning to fully face them. They looked away, folding their arms.

“The, uh,” they groaned. “With your wings. The thing you did to keep me warm,” they muttered. Gabriel laughed some, panicking them for a short moment. He shrugged off his jacket, letting each of his wings out.

“You know, it’s nice to have them spread out every once in a while,” he admitted, sitting down on the edge of their bed. They hesitantly settled beside him, smiling when they felt him wrap his wing tightly around their small frame. They sighed softly, nuzzling into his feathers, he chuckled a bit, moving them into his lap, as he had done before.

They were stiff for a moment, though eventually found themselves melting into his grasp. Gabriel smiled gently, leaning back into the headboard. They nuzzled into his chest, sighing quietly. His heartbeat was irregular, and they were worried for a moment before remembering what he had said about his anatomy. It was vaguely entertaining after the worry passed. There were long pauses between the beats, enough to kill a human from shock. They had only dealt with a handful of bodies that had passed from the condition, but they were definitely much easier to deal with than physical trauma.

He hummed quietly, reaching up to run his fingers through their fluffy mess of hair. They shivered as his nails ran against their scalp, tingles running down their spine. He was happy to see that they enjoyed the motion. He adjusted it a bit until he felt them completely relax in his grasp, their arms crossed over their chest, their hands balled in fists. They weren't asleep quite yet, their blue eyes barely visible through their dark lashes.

It was such a beautiful sight to him, having their tiny form curled up in his arms. The steadiness of their own breathing was calming to him, as foreign as it was. He adjusted his wings around them to support their head when he noticed it drooping, making them hum lazily.

Now, Gabriel didn’t really know anything about human customs. He knew the customs of fourteenth century Europe, but he was aware that things were quite different now. However, he did know what the concept of a kiss was. He pushed back their hair from their face, pressing his lips gently against their forehead.

They looked up at him when they felt the contact, their eyes still sleepy and foggy. They didn’t pull away, or push him back. They just readjusted so their chin rested against his chest, closing their eyes. He smiled, rubbing their cheek with his thumb. They eventually passed out, fast asleep, their head falling back to its former position. He chuckled softly, closing his own eyes for once.


	6. Business Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed soft Gabe and this ended up just being a short vent out whoops

Bee was lucky they had met Dagon when they did. Sure, they never felt that they were really in need of friends, but humans would go insane without some social interaction. They had their burts of complaints every few weeks, where they just needed to break down and insult things. And Dagon listened, even while carving a body open.

It was definitely an odd sight, to have one woman slicing open a cadaver and examining its innards, and on another autopsy table, her boss lying down and rambling. Their face was red, though it wasn’t necessarily from anger or frustration.

“You know,” Dagon murmured, dragging her scalpel down the trachea of the body on the table. “It’s probably good for you. You’re happier lately,” she pointed out. “It isn’t terrible.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bee muttered. “I hate it. It’s weird.”

“That sounds like a _you _problem. It’s not weird. People fall in love,” she chuckled, dragging a swab down the open windpipe.__

“I’m _not _in love,” they insisted, sitting up to glare at her. “I just… tolerate him. Even if I was, it wouldn’t be okay,” they shook their head.__

“I found you _sleeping in his lap. _That ain’t tolerance, boss,” she rolled her eyes.”__

“Fuck off,” they grumbled, swinging their legs over the side of the table. “If I didn’t have shit to do, I’d beat your ass.”

“Well, lucky for me, the hospice workers should be here in no time, and you’ve got to plan a funeral.” she flashed them a smile, watching as they jumped off the table.

“That isn’t what I’m dreading,” they rolled their eyes. “I’ve got to keep Anthony and his loverboy from fucking in the middle of the viewing room.” Dagon let out a hearty laugh, shaking her head.

“Good luck, _Dr. Zachary. _” They sneered some, shaking their head as they ascended up to the lobby. Anthony was waiting on the sofa beside the door, tapping his foot on the floor.__

“You know he’s coming on a job, right? Not for a date,” Beelzebub sneered. He rolled his eyes, nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. He's coming, that's what matters. I like seeing him. I enjoy his presence. You know, emotions. Sorry,” he shrugged. They groaned, throwing him a v. Ever since Crowley had started dating one of the hospice workers they worked with, planning had become a bit of a nightmare. A.Z. was incredibly smart, nice to do business with, but was so easily distracted by his lover. It made things take forever.

They waited for some time, quiet aside from the sound of Ligur typing, and Gabriel shuffling papers. He had gotten fairly behind, considering he did most of his paperwork at night, so had been holed up in the lobby attempting to catch up. It was honestly a little disappointing, they missed his presence while they worked. It was pathetic.

The bell above the door rang as Fell entered the shop, a smile on his face. “Azi,” Crowley hummed, standing up to greet him with a hug. He embraced him tightly, making the man laugh.

“Crowley,” he returned. “Thank you, dear.” He patted his back before pulling back, then looking to Bee. “I'm sorry for the short notice, Dr. Zachary, we truly did expect her to live until August—”

“Aziraphale?” Gabriel had glanced up at the noise, now cutting the other man off. Aziraphale looked over, his face taking a deathly pallor.

“Gabriel!” He greeted nervously, forcing a laugh. He notably stiffened, clasping his hands together. “What, ah, what are you doing here?” Gabriel rose to stand, furrowing his brows.

“My job,” his tone was pointed. “I can ask you the same question.” Bee glanced between the two, cocking a brow. Gabriel had only taken that tone a few times, and it was always when he was complaining about work.

“You know each other?” They asked, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from advancing further.

Aziraphale chuckled a bit, still uneasy. “Ah, Crowley,” he began slowly. “This is my, um, _boss, _. I assume you're familiar with him?” Anthony furrowed his brows, his eyes widening after a moment. He looked to Gabriel, then to Bee.__

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “That— that's him? But he’s soft!”

“You know what,” Gabriel began coldly, “How about I sit in on this meeting?” He suggested. The air was tense and uncomfortable. Bee nodded slowly, then beginning into the viewing room with the other three in tow. Crowley closed the door behind him, leading to an almost immediate burnout.

“You disappear off of our radar for six years, submit no reports, ignore any message you’re given, and I find you doing, what? Human work?” Gabriel began, a false cheeriness in his voice. “Aziraphale, I knew your work ethic was bad, but this is unacceptable.” Bee and Crowley had stepped away from the two, trading uncomfortable looks. “Listen, sunshine. Being sent to earth is a privilege. A privilege that can be revoked. If you would like to do office work up there with the rest of the principalities, I’ll be happy to arrange that.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale laughed uncomfortably. “It’s only six years, I’m only a year late.”

“Yes, a year. And that is twelve months too many. You’re terrible at your job, but at least I could count on a steady stream of reports and miracles. You are on thin fucking ice, principality.” Gabriel’s eyes were sparking violet, the air of the room becoming static.

Bee frowned, finally moving to step in. “Gabriel,” they interjected, placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. They quickly removed it, though, when the contact shocked their fingers. The angel seemed to immediately calm down, whipping around and taking their hand between his own.

“Are you okay?” He checked quickly. “I'm sorry,” he murmured, closing his eyes. They watched as the little black spot on their fingers faded back to a healthy pink, the pain leaving with it. Their eyes widened some.

“Uh, yeah— I'm good,” they mumbled. “Uh, what the hell was that..?”

“Just a little miracle,” he assured them. He squeezed their hand gently sighing. “I'm sorry.”

“You're fine, you're fine,” they shook their head quickly. “Uh, calm down a bit,” they spoke slowly. “Take a breath. You're okay. Is this, ah, the guy you've been complaining about?” Gabriel let out a sigh, nodding.

“Wait,” Crowley interjected. “Sorry, was anyone going to tell me that I was living with the archangel Gabriel, or was I supposed to just, like, figure that out?” He asked, stepping forward.

“Were you gonna tell us you were fucking the principality Aziraphale? No? Then shut up.” Both of the others went red. Aziraphale fully expected for Gabriel to whip around and begin to berate him, but he didn't. He only let out a chuckle, smiling at Bee. Jesus, humanity had really softened them.

“Can we just—” Bee sighed heavily. “Can we go ahead and just— fucking, plan the funeral and berate each other later? Angels or not, I've still got to carve this bitch open.”

“Language,” Gabriel mumbled, earning a glare from them. They sat form among the pews, pulling out their laptop.

“Um, yes. I apologize, Dr. Zachary. He sat down beside them, getting a few paper files out of his bag. As the two conversed, Gabriel sighed, sitting down beside Crowley.

“You have a terrible taste in men,” he began bluntly. Anthony glared at him, folding his arms.

“You have an equally terrible taste in humans,” he sniffed, rolling his eyes.


End file.
